


Santa Claus Is Going To Town

by stravaganza



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (just costumes), (they are not actually Santa and an elf), Bad Smut, Blowjobs, Christmas, Crack-ish, Elf!Sherlock, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Rutting, Santa!John, bad attempt at comedy, handjobs, sex in costume
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9081787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stravaganza/pseuds/stravaganza
Summary: Sherlock and John are invited to a Christmas party at the Yard. In costume! Sounds legit, right?Riiiight...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vanetti (lereya)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lereya/gifts), [Ewebie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ewebie/gifts), [jamlockk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamlockk/gifts), [Ashlee1989](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashlee1989/gifts), [HollyShadow88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyShadow88/gifts), [hotsmugstache (MadeInBerlin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadeInBerlin/gifts), [thesummerstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesummerstars/gifts).



> This is just really, really bad. An attempt to both porn and comedy. Mostly, I just needed to write something... but hey, at least now you know why I haven't written any smut lately! I just seem to be unable to.
> 
> That said, I hope you have fun!

Sherlock could tell that John was pissed. Not furious, angry or mad, really, but irritated enough that the detective could feel him almost vibrating in the cab seat next to his own.

"I'm sorry," he started, only to be interrupted by a grunt.

He tried again.

"How was I supposed to know-"

Another grunt, louder. Ruder.

"I should be the angry one!" he pointed out, only to get a snort for an answer.

Why did John have to be so stubborn? Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, a medley of jingles filling the cab.

John took in a deep sigh, and Sherlock bristled again. "Okay, fine! I should have known, because it was Donovan who told me about the party, but still--"

"A costume party for Christmas," John interrupted, "I should've seen it..."

"You're dressed as Santa! There's nothing weird with that, it's Christmas!" snipped Sherlock, glaring at John. He had snapped his head towards him, and his hat filled the cab with jingling sounds once more.

John huffed and shook his head, clenching his fake beard in his hands, but Sherlock didn't relent.

"You have nothing to be embarrassed about, [you're not dressed as an elf](http://u.kanobu.ru/screenshots/52/f8b64f3b-6972-4b82-b3a8-98b0b34c3784.jpg)!"

Sherlock really couldn't stand it when John refused to talk to him, his most petulant and childish side taking over and always demanding attention in the worst ways possible: bothering the doctor.

"What is it, then? Are you pissed because they took pictures of us dressed like this? Worried 'people will talk'? Well, guess what, they already do!"

John kept staring outside the window while London sped past them, and Sherlock kept pushing and prying.

"Is it because you think they made a fool out of you? They didn't, not more than usual anyway."

There was an almost imperceptible movement of John's head that Sherlock knew to be an eyeroll, and that was the last straw. He plopped back in his seat and turned away, crossing his arms as tight as he could against his chest in the best sulk he could give in public.

"Next time we'll just go for the join reindeer costume, at least you won't have to be seen with me. I'll just go ahead and be the rear end, shall I?"

God, that was so terribly petulant that even Sherlock cringed, but there was no going back on his own words now. Thankfully, the cab stopped soon enough, and Sherlock stormed out and left John to pay. After all, his ludicrous red costume was the only one with pockets.

Sherlock pushed into Baker Street and trudged up the stairs, the bells on his shirt jingling with every damned step he took. He couldn't wait to just get rid of it all - he'd throw the damn hat in the fireplace, and rip the stockings off, and use the bloody belt to--

He couldn't finish that thought, because as soon as he got off the landing and into the flat John was on him, pushing him into the door. Sherlock blinked at the black painted wood for a moment, too startled to even think of fighing back, and then he felt John's breath on his ear as the man leaned in to hiss.

"You're a brat, you know that? My reasons for being pissed are my own, and not everything revolves around you," John said, but all Sherlock could focus on was the feeling of the doctor's body pressed against his own.

Well. Damn.

The world seemed to freeze around them, or maybe it was just Sherlock. He stilled, unable to breath, fearing that doing so would break the spell that was keeping John plastered to his back. At the same time, though, John didn't seem to be suffering from the same condition, if his heavy breathing in Sherlock's ear from his short outburst and sprint up the stairs was anything to go by.

After a few moments, John's grip on him relented, and his body went soft against Sherlock. He must have gotten worried about the detective's state, because he was radiating concern, but when he tried to pull back Sherlock let out a small whimper, and the doctor froze again, their bodies pressed together.

This was going to be a problem. Sherlock couldn't turn around with the growing hard on in his - not at all concealing - stockings, and he most certainly couldn't speak - his brain reduced to mush by the feeling of John's compact form so close to him.

Eventually, John's daring nature did the rest of the work for them. The doctor licked his lips and pushed Sherlock against the door once more, eliciting another whimper from the detective.

"That's not the way to speak to Santa," he whispered, an edge of caution and uncertainty in his voice. "You've been a very naughty elf."

Sherlock gasped, his eyes going wide, and he turned his head to look at John. He could see his own reflection in the man's dilated pupils, and he wondered if his own eyes were just as black.

John must have seen something he was looking for, because his face broke into a grin that positively melted Sherlock's insides. "I'm going to have to teach you some manners, haven't I?"

Before Sherlock could react, John was pulling him away from the door and crashing their lips together in the messier first kiss Sherlock had ever experienced. Sure, he hadn't had many first kisses, but none had been like this: a clash of teeth, lips, tongues and arousals.

Sherlock moaned and wrapped his arms around John, practically draping himself over the man as he was steered towards his bedroom, John's hands cupping his arse and squeezing uncerimoniously.

"You had to find the one costume that showed off your arse to the whole of the Yard, didn't you?" John growled when he pulled away from the kiss, his voice sending shivers of arousal down Sherlock's spine and straight to his groin.

Before Sherlock could reply, he was being thrown on the bed in a flurry of jingles, the fall backwards cushioned by the mattress. He looked up at John as the bed bounced with his weight for a moment, and found the man towering over him, hands on the black belt from his Santa costume.

"John," he called, almost shocked.

The doctor climbed on the bed, straddling Sherlock's hips and smiling wickedly down at him.

"I'm not reading this wrong, am I? You actually want this," he said, nodding to Sherlock's erection and flushed face. John managed to sound amazed.

"Of course I want this!" Sherlock mumbled, his face growing exponentially pinker as he rambled on. "I've wanted you for ages, and I can't believe you're finding out now while I'm dressed as a bloody elf," he mumbled, his ears burning so much he was grateful he had forgone the pointy plastic add-ons.

But John raised a finger and effectively shushed Sherlock up with but a gesture.

"Oh, honey, if all elves looked like you Santa would have dropped out of the gift making industry and opened up a strip club," John said as he leaned down and pressed a sweet kiss to Sherlock's forehead.

Sherlock snorted, and John pulled away with a raised eyebrow.

At his expression, Sherlock giggled.

"What?"

"N-nothing, just... think he'd call it 'The North _Pole_ '?" Sherlock asked in between giggles, and John barked out a laugh.

"Oh, God, that's- that's terrible," he said, his high-pitched giggle even more endearing than usual.

The detective pulled John down, tugging on the lapels of his costume, and pressed their lips together again between giggles. Slowly, their laughter died down and the room was filled by small moans and soft groans, until John was undoing Sherlock's belt and tugging his clothes off.

"Keep the hat," he growled in his ear, before biting on the lobe to get another whimper out of Sherlock. Then, John pulled away and watched as Sherlock lost layer after layer of clothing.

When Sherlock was but naked beneath John, only his green Santa hat on his head and his boxers still lingering on his lower half, the doctor pulled away and rolled Sherlock on his stomach.

"John?" Sherlock called, alarmed, but the other man tutted at him.

"It's Daddy Christmas to you," John teased, and Sherlock would have laughed again if it weren't for the other man yanking his boxers down and leaving him naked.

Before Sherlock could protest, John was parting his cheeks and burying his face between the mounds of soft flesh, tracing his perineum with his tongue and eliciting a whine from his lover.

"Oh my God!" Sherlock yelped, spreading his legs as far as they would go and rolling his hips back against John's face, biting on his lips to suppress the most embarrassing sounds.

John's hands were soon on his hips, keeping Sherlock still as he intensified his efforts. His tongue pressed in against Sherlock's hole, circling the tight muscle a few times before disappearing, down his perineum and to his testicles, which John proceeded to suck into his mouth.

Sherlock couldn't sit still, wriggling and squirming helplessly and restlessly, wanting to participate actively to their lovemaking but kept from doing so.

"O-oh, please," he moaned as John pressed his tongue against his quivering hole, making him gasp. "Please, Daddy Christmas, let me suck on your Pole," he begged, and John pulled away with a snort of laughter.

"Oh, God, I'm so turned on not even that kind of talk is going to kill the mood," John said as he moved on the bed, sitting besides Sherlock.

The detective pushed himself up on his arms and scrambled to get to John's trousers, pulling the belt open and tugging the synthetic material away with a displeased scrunch of his nose.

"Next time I'm getting you a velvet suit," he mumbled, pressing his face against John's groin and inhaling, making the older man groan.

"Jesus, not if you're going to kill me before _this_  time is over..."

Sherlock smirked up at John and pulled his boxer briefs away until he man's cock sprung up, finally freed from its cloth prison.

"Someone is about to be _very_  nice," Sherlock purred, grinning as John gave an embarrassed eyeroll at the cheesiness of his line.

But before John could give a smart retort, Sherlock was pulling him in his mouth and going down on him with all the pent up need of years of lusting after his flatmate.

"Jesus!" John cursed again, his hand going to hold the back of Sherlock's neck so he wouldn't dislodge the hat on his head.

Sherlock was a bit rusty, but he got the basic dynamics of a blowjob: lick, stroke with hand, suck, repeat. He took John deep into his mouth and pulled off, building up a rhythm that soon had the man thrust into him. What he lacked in experience he made up for in creativity, and he moved his tongue in whatever way struck his fancy, wanting nothing more than to make John feel good.

Soon, the doctor was pulling Sherlock off, both men panting hard against each other's lips as they attempted (and failed) to kiss.

"I'm afraid we need air more than we need kisses," John mumbled.

"Untrue," retorted Sherlock, wrapping his arms around John's shoulders and pressing their bodies together, gasping when their erections brushed together.

"Oh, fuck-" John cursed, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, rolling his hips into Sherlock. "Yes, this- this works," John grunted, thrusting up against his lover again.

Sherlock gasped and nodded in agreement, burying his face into John's neck and reaching to grasp their erections in his hand. Both men moaned when their cocks pressed together hard, and after a few moments of trial and error, they synchronised their efforts and found the best rhythm that would hurtle them over the edge.

They squeezed and rocked and gripped and moaned and shuddered, until, finally, they came with a strangled yell of each other's name.

Afterwards, while they were regaining their breaths, slumped against each other, they couldn't help but marvel at how a stupid prank had turned out to be such an amazing thing.

Just as Sherlock started to stirr to get cleaned up, John's mobile chimed from inside his costume. The doctor wriggled so he could reach inside his pocket, and pulled out his phone to see who wanted what.

When he started to laugh so hard that Sherlock got worried he was having a fit, the detective peered over his shoulder to try and see what was on the tiny screen of his mobile.

There, staring back at him, was a picture of [a dejected-looking Lestrade, in a reindeer costume complete with red nose and antlers](http://cdn3.bigcommerce.com/s-ygopcimc/products/400/images/1373/ReindeerKigurumi_1_lrg__45013.1431619869.380.520.jpg?c=2).

"Seems like we're not the only ones who were pranked," Sherlock said with a raised eyebrow, only managing to make John laugh harder, his giggle higher than he'd ever heard it.

"Good thing he only got there now," John said through his tears of mirth, probably meaning they might not have gotten to do this if Lestrade had been there as well.

Sherlock grinned and shrugged. "Oh, I don't know... Santa needs his reindeers, right?"

When John snorted, Sherlock added, "Could've ridden that into the sunset..."

Sherlock couldn't add anything, because John picked him up and carried him into the bathroom.

"That's a talk for another time, you naughty thing! Looks like Santa will have to teach you another lesson or two..."

Believe it or not, Sherlock was more than pleased with that.


End file.
